


Amalgam

by Paragon_Parallax



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Frankenstein AU, Horror, Monster - Freeform, Murder, Okay but what if this is good
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 15:00:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11671452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paragon_Parallax/pseuds/Paragon_Parallax
Summary: Rey must come to accept that her life's work may have created nothing more than a monster."The hot knife of dread cut its way through her stomach. It left her completely gutted.He was alive."





	Amalgam

_“No more let life divide what death can join together._ ” -  
Percy Bysshe Shelley

It was terrifying, to put it mildly, the way life was lurching  into the cold contours of his body.Careful calculations on paper could not compare to the raw, visceral nature of the scene before her. _The wild thrashing, the gasping breaths, the unfocused gaze in his eyes_ \- She scribbled it all down as if she were back in medical school, clutching pen and paper to her chest. Thunder bellowed overhead  from the hellish weather outside. The  makeshift "womb" that cradled him groaned and strained under his movements. It was a crude tub of porcelain and metal sheeting gleaming before her despite the sparse, flickering lighting in the stale room. The liquid surrounding him, the milky broth of life, churned and sloshed over the sides with his continual convulsions. She watched on, transfixed, waiting for the inevitable stillness that would overcome him. Life was fleeting in that way.  
  
His movements, after a considerable stretch of time, slowed to a thrumming tremble that racked every muscle in his form. She held her breath, enraptured at the sight. Despite herself she hoped he would truly live. He would be the first of the many she tempted with life that would grasp on and not give in to the cold embrace of death again.  
  
_Would he be able to stand?_  
  
_To speak?_  
  
_Would he have thoughts?_  
  
_Would he have the knowledge he once did?_  
  
_Or did death wipe him anew?_  
  
_Would he be able to tell her of the dark that sought them all?_  
  
The pen snapped in her hand as she let out a shuttering breath. Some questions, no matter how many times she asked them, she never truly wanted the answer.  
She searched his face for any sign of consciousness. As his movements ceased however, she cursed herself for ever giving way to hope.  
  
She began pacing, the hard  _clack_ of unbridled steps filled the space. Her thoughts ran unremittingly through the procedure for fault.  
  
_Was there enough power from the storm?_  
  
_Did she reconnect every part correctly?_  
  
_Did every suture hold?_  
  
_Was every stitch precisely placed as to usher new life?_  
  
She turned her back to the tub, her latest failure, and set her paper on her work desk. Fists clenching, she bowed her head in utter defeat, yet again.  
  
"Life is cruel, as am I," She whispered to herself as her eyes welled up. The familiar caress of defeat had found her once again. It was then that she noticed. It was a subtle change in the room that spurred a shudder through her. It urged her to look behind her, but there was ice embedded in her veins inhibiting her motions. Her body was lead even at the sound of moving water. A horror engulfed her so profound it took the breath from her lungs and left her wanting none. Despite this, in a feat of foolish courage she turned just enough to catch a glimpse behind her. The tub which was once filled with translucent white was now such an opaque red that she for a moment thought she had surely gone mad. The compulsion to look closer was overwhelming. It commanded her towards the tub on shaky legs. Her hands curled over the hard, biting edge as she peered into its contents.  In a better sense, she gazed in disbelief of its lack of contents. There was no body in the tub. Even as murky as the liquid was, she was absolutely certain. The smear of red over one side and over onto the floor beneath was all but bitter confirmation. She attempted to calm her breathing and rationalize her thoughts. It was cursory.  
  
Her eyes focused on the slightest of movement in the darkness. The hot knife of dread cut its way through her stomach. It left her completely gutted.  
  
_He was alive._  
  
Against all sound judgement she made small movements, quiet as death itself, approaching the form hunched on the floor. He trembled and shook, dripping red.  She was compelled to draw closer.  
  
His head snapped up, in a convulsive manner that was entirely inhuman, despite the body she had forged and labored over herself. His eyes were black and piercing as they stared into her. Every fiber of her body demanded her to flee, but she resisted. She stood motionless, observing him as he observed her.  
  
Her heart hammered in her chest as she grew more anxious by the passing moment, few as they were. Her throat tightened against her, but she was compelled to utter only one single syllable to him.  
  
"Ben."  
  
His eyes widened, chest heaving. He screamed and lurched at her. She was narrowly missed by his hulking form, only by his lack of motor skill and not intent. In an instant she was running as fast as her legs would carry her. Leaving everything behind, including him, she never came back.

**Author's Note:**

> Heavily inspired by Penny Dreadful.  
> I really appreciate any and all feedback.


End file.
